


the birds, they have it right

by infernum



Category: The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brief suicidal thoughts, Character Study, Diego Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Young Diego Hargreeves, if you blink you miss it though so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 18:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19179064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infernum/pseuds/infernum
Summary: He belongs to the mansion again, to the Academy, and when you are owned, you must obey.





	the birds, they have it right

**Author's Note:**

> It's short, it hurt to write, it's the culmination of thinking too much about the Hargreeves kids never experienced a childhood and were used as soldiers and trained as such. Soz.
> 
> I love Diego Hargreeves in the the comics and the show. You can take this as either one of them but it's more comics compliant as the show completely ignored the fact that knife throwing isn't his power, just a skill he learnt and honed in on. I'm totally not bitter about that. At all. Whatsoever.
> 
> .....may I am a bit.

Diego can feel the hairs on his arms drift in the water, swaying with each shift of his body, every twitch, that sends ripples through the bathtub.

There is a peacefulness to the muffled silence of being underwater; it's calm and tranquil, like floating in nothing but feeling everything. This is his space, his own escape from the mansion they live in and everything that encompasses it and every living thing in it. The bugs and flies that are caught in the house, in its inescapable grasp of anything that breathes, gives no room for mistakes or childlike wonder at the world.

Diego isn't breathing.

The mansion cannot hold on to him while he slips under and drifts inside of himself.

Muted sounds of of arguing, clattering, feet slapping against floorboards, are caught above the surface of the water. Diego cannot hear them; he can only hear the steady pulse of blood in his ears, rushing through his veins, and the easy, steady metronome pace of his heart, deep beneath his ribcage.

His hands are gripping the edges of the bathtub, holding him down so he doesn't float to the surface and belong to the mansion again. Here he is his own person, own body, own soul. Here he can think of days out at a pier, ice cream or candyfloss in hand, the birds gliding above his head to wherever they wish to go. Here he can think of what the sun would feel like on his skin, if it would feel like he was glowing and becoming a sun himself. Here he can imagine what the sounds of children running around on the wood would sound like, if they would squeal in delight in the summer heat with their parents keeping watchful and loving eyes on them.

Here Diego can wonder if he could have been one of those children, if his mother would have smothered him with affection and suncream before letting him run off into the sea, waves lapping around his ankles and seaweed tangling themselves in between his toes.

Diego wishes he were a bird—he could fly anywhere in the world, far away from the grimy streets of a city full of crime and withering people, to a place only he and the birds would know.

Sometimes when he holds his knives, turns them in his palms as he aims, he remembers how light he felt the first time he landed a solid throw. It felt like this—calm and quiet in his body and mind, nothing to distract him—and he felt pride soar through him because he had something that was substantial, more than just using his breath and he could finally be of some use to the Academy. He had proved his worth, that he wasn't a mistake, that he had something to offer that was better than Number One.

The faint sound of knocking interrupts his silence and he takes an accidental breath in, choking on the water that floods his lungs, eyes snapping open and body jerking until he sits up in the tub, hands gripping his throat, nails leaving red lines down the skin.

"Number Two, we've got a robbery!" It's Number Four. "Let's go!" He can hear her running away, her footsteps becoming quieter as she gets further away.

Outside of the water again, the weight of the mansion pushes on him, heart now throbbing fast against his ribs, the colour of red and sounds of cut-off screams swarming his head before he takes a breath, squeezes his eyes shut for just a moment, thinks briefly about ducking back under and letting the water in and letting himself go. He could escape but it wouldn't be flying, just sinking.

The deafening sounds of the other four running to prepare cuts that off and he steps out, water dripping off his skin and collecting on the tiles beneath his feet.

He belongs to the mansion again, to the Academy, and when you are owned, you must obey.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you guys think!! Criticism is accepted but only if it's constructive. I accept any and all types of praise because I am a major slut for praise.


End file.
